


What a Pirate Does

by AlderRegius



Category: Peter Pan & The Pirates, Peter Pan (2003)
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlderRegius/pseuds/AlderRegius
Summary: Captain Hook was once a kind, innocent, two-handed boy thrown into the pirate life. In one of many attempts to make himself a more fitting pirate, Captain James Thurgood (later to become Captain Hook) kidnaps a young girl to pleasure him. His morals, still of a naive boy and not of a pirate, hold him back.





	What a Pirate Does

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be full-fledged erotica, but I wasn't really feeling it.

"James," she cooed, crawling towards him as he sat in the large, stuffed armchair by the fireplace in his quarters. He had been lost in thought, smoking his pipe, but now this young woman had his full attention as she crawled upon her hands and knees towards him. Her eyes, a beautiful mix of earthy green and caramel brown, looked up at him mischievously. He was utterly confused, though he watched in amusement and curiosity as she approached him across the wooden floor. He took another puff of his pipe, exhaling and filling the room with the smell of pine needles. 

She was at his knees, now, directly in front of him and sitting back with her legs tucked under her, staring at him from under her messy, golden-brown hair. She was certainly not a traditional beauty- she had a narrow, diamond shaped face and broad shoulders that brushed the ends of her hair. Her breasts were just average in size, but she carried a significant amount of weight, more than most found attractive, around her hips and rear. Her pale skin was mottled by light freckles, and her front teeth were too big to be attractive.  
But, God, she was still enchanting. 

Perhaps not beautiful, but her eyes, her lips, the way she moved...  
It enchanted him, alright? So much so that he merely watched as she crawled between his legs and looked up at him as he smoked his pipe. He thought little of it, just stared into her eyes.

He realized, staring at her, that he didn't even know her name. He had kidnapped this girl and had not learned her name. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. After all, people often said that giving something a name forces you to care. He didn't want to care about her. He, well, he hated to think it, but he wanted to use her. He wanted to feel her touch, but not her love. He wanted to rob her of her chastity, but not remember her face. 

That's what a pirate did, right? He never had done that; he hadn't felt the touch of a woman in the decade he had spent already at sea. Yet, here he was, staring into this woman's eyes, wondering why. Wondering if this is what he wanted.

The answer was no.

Yes, he wanted her touch. He wanted her virginity to be his. He wanted to spill himself inside of her. He wanted her lips all over his body, where they did not belong. He wanted to explore the deepest parts of her own body with his cock and his lips. It was true. But he wanted to love her.

He wanted to know her name and her dreams, to care, to hold her despite how much she might cry, to love her despite a fight, to kiss away pain. As he looked at her, however, he frowned. She was surely only doing this because she was scared of what would happen if she didn't. She did not care about him, she cared about survival. He could be as rough as he wanted, he could hurt her, rape her, break her, and then get rid of her. 

He sighed, watching her as she watched him. Her hands snaked carefully over the inside of his thighs and over his thin canvas pants, coming to rest just beside his penis. His stomach naturally began to twist in excitement for what it knew would come next, his heart beat becoming more noticeable in his chest. She stood slowly, her hands just lightly brushing over his cock, still sheathed, and snaking their way across his abdomen under the loose night shirt. She was truly a tease. She continued her ascent until she was level with him, wrapping her naked legs around his body, her black panties the only garment still intact. He could feel her warm breath against his face and neck and her genitalia against his slowly awakening. He did his best not to stare at her bare breasts. He was a gentleman, after all. She sat their upon his lap, staring into his eyes. 

"I know you want to, James," she whispered staring at his lips. His mind responded silently, "But you have no idea what it is I want to do."

Her hands still traced his muscles under the loose shirt, though her eyes had moved down to his chest. For the first time, she let the mask of desire falter to show only broken sadness. After a moment of her exploring and him smoking in silence, he still did not respond to her touch. She leaned forward, placing her head on his shoulder and going almost limp. Her hands dropped, one hand to her thigh and one still upon his chest. Her breath was warm and wet upon the crook of neck. A warm liquid dripped onto part of his shoulder not covered by the loose collar of his shirt, and he knew in an instant that she was crying.

Now Captain James Thurgood responded. He dropped his pipe onto the small wooden table level with the arm chair. He moved his hands slowly, gently, not wanting to hurt her. One came to rest upon her head, holding her softly against him. The other made delicate strokes across her back, bare except for the thin line of her panties. Her makeup was a mess, her face hot with ugly tears, and her hair tangled and windblown, but still so enchanting. He kept his arm close to her, making sure to cover her chest. He wanted to cover her, hold her, and keep her safe. This time, he didn't try to deny it. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, between hiccups. Her lips brushed his neck as she spoke. James stared off across the room, not responding. 

As he thought, he knew he was the cause of this. He was the cause of the tears streaming down her narrow face, now splotched with red. He was the cause of the fear that pushed her to act against her will. He was the cause of the sobs that rattled the figure of a broken girl. He was a pirate. This was what pirates did. He had heard it in the pubs, the taverns, the ships. A pirate took as he pleased, and through it away when he was bored.

He did not want to be a pirate if that was what was expected of him. 

"Don't be sorry," he whispered after a long moment. "You've done nothing wrong."

"But I haven't pleased you," she whispered back. The words choked her as she forced herself to say them. They were heavy and out of place in her throat. James felt as though he was choking upon them, too. His throat hurt as she spoke, and a sting in his eyes and nose that he had not felt in years began to drown him.

He knew that the next words he spoke, whatever they were, he would cry.

"Yes, you have," he said shakily, quickly taking his hand from her back to wipe away a free rogue tears. 

She was already looking up into his teary eyes, however. She reached for his hand and stopped it from drying the tears. She lightly pushed herself from him, now sitting up and holding both of his hands in her own between their bodies. 

She was searching his blue eyes with her own brown-green eyes. He could not decipher the expression on her face. Her eyes were half-closed, but still wide. Her eyebrows kneaded upwards, and her mouth was ever so slightly open, showing her front teeth between her light lips. It was an in describable mix of exhaustion, confusion, hurt, and shock.

And hope.

He saw it in her eyes as he cried freely, his tears mingling with hers as they fell. 

She waited, holding onto that hope, staring into the eternity hidden in his eyes. 

"I want to love you," he stumbled over his words. His voice was without shame or regret. It was without threatening feelings from her. It was the truth, raw and broken as if someone had cracked him open, and scraped away the fruit inside. He breathed shakily, her face still a storm of swirling emotions lost in translation. 

"I want to know what you're scared of, what your dreams are, what your name means. I want to know who you think of when things are going great and who you think of when everything goes wrong. I want to be the one who holds you through the sunrise and the storm," he said hurriedly, digging through her eyes with everything he had to find her feeling. His breath was heavy and fast, expanding his whole body in hopes of absorbing the room.

All he wanted was for her to respond in that moment. He didn't care if she slapped him, broke him, pushed him, or murdered him with the knife of her words. He didn't care if she held him, wiped away his tears, or left him. He wanted her to respond. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake words out of her, but he stayed still, allowing her to hold his dark hands in her pale ones.

Finally, she closed her eyes and exhaled. All that was upon her face was pain. 

He wept silently, his eyes silent waterfalls in a mountain of jagged rock. He kept his eyes open as he cried, watching her weep. She let go of his hands, and placed her head in her own hands. She shook without a sound, the emotion rattling her young body. 

He looked at her, a person he had broken. He had killed and maimed, but never had he broken. 

As he watched her, he could feel the hurt growing inside his chest. He was out of breath, just staring out at her from inside a lonely shell. Her body was cold upon his lap. He wanted to comfort her and warm her, but he knew his touch would not warm, but burn. He so wanted to love her. He did not want to use her and break her. He wanted to love her, but in doing so, he had broken her.

They sat like that for an eternity. Him, arms limply in his lap, crying freely on an arm chair, her sitting in his lap with her legs trapping his, head in her hands as she quaked. 

He eventually wrapped his arms around her, standing and lifting her up. She went limp in his arms, no longer shaking, but still dripping with tears. She hiccuped into his shirt, leaving a spot soaked with tears in his shoulder. He walked with her, his head aching with pressure from emotion, his eyes stinging and his face covered in the sticky dry tracks of tears. Her feet dragged against the wooden floor. He set her carefully in his bed. He pulled one of his own shirts over her cold body to cover her, before laying her down and covering her with the blankets. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed away the hair stuck to her face by tears. She did not look at him. 

James stood and walked into the cold air of a pale dawn. Clouds hung over the sky, leaving no room for the sunrise he searched for. His head pulsed, and his stomach churned. 

He had never cried like that. Not once. It had drained him. Fatigue completely consumed his body as he stood, lost, in the center of his own ship. He could not catch his breath. His throat ached. His head spun around his shoulders. His face was sticky with tears, though his eyes were itchy and dry. He felt as if he was not in his body anymore. He was not in control, he was watching some poor soul, but that poor soul was him.


End file.
